


Christmas Kiss

by Altais4



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst and Romance, Christmas, Fandot Secret Santa, Fix-It, Kissing, M/M, MJN Air Is A Family, Post Episode: Zurich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9146494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altais4/pseuds/Altais4
Summary: It’s the 23th of December and Martin is facing a lonely Christmas in Zurich. But then Carolyn calls and asks him if he can fly for OJS one last time.Written for Fandot Secret Santa - for the prompts “post Zurich angst” and “kissing for a bet”.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Indybaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/gifts).



> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you!! I hope you enjoy the story :)
> 
> Also many, many thanks to Ianina for brainstorming and beta!

“Yes. All right, Carolyn. I’ll be there . . . in two hours.”

Martin dropped the phone and sank onto his bed, shoving a bunch of old issues of Aviation Week aside. That had been Carolyn, calling from the airport. Martin still couldn’t believe his ears. Herc had caught the flu and Mr Alyakhin was demanding a relief pilot in no uncertain terms. They were all stranded in Zurich. From the background, he’d even heard Douglas and Arthur squabbling when Carolyn asked him if he could help out.

The sudden flutter in his belly had nothing to do with the stale cheese sandwich he’d eaten for lunch. He was going home for Christmas. Flying for MJN, well technically OJS.

He didn’t have any other plans. Absently Martin scooped up the scattered magazines and stacked them into a neat pile. In fact, for the longest time, he’d thought he would be spending the holidays with Theresa. But then she dumped him three month ago . . . completely out of the blue. He simply couldn’t face his mother or Simon after that, admit the defeat. They’d never believed the whole princess business anyway. So he’d signed on for work.

Right — work. Martin leaped up from the bed, feeling too jittery to sit still. Fortunately, he didn’t have any flights scheduled till Boxing Day. He could easily go to Fitton with MJN today and catch a flight back on the 25th. He yanked his flight-bag with the Swiss Air logo out of the wardrobe and spread it out on the mattress, checking that his licence and his ID card were in the inside pocket. Then he began to throw in little stacks of neatly folded underwear, a jumper, a shirt.

If Arthur lent him his car, he might even drive up to Wokingham and say a quick hello to his mother, Martin pondered as he stepped into the shower moments later and let the spray of hot water pour down on him. A surprise visit for Christmas! Somehow anything seemed better than sitting here in his tiny flat, brooding about what might have been.

When Martin trudged back to the bedroom, leaving a trail of damp footprints behind, he automatically reached for his Swiss Air uniform. He paused. Wearing that would look weird in front of Mr Alyakhin, wouldn’t it? After all, saving appearances was the whole point of this undertaking. Martin opened the wardrobe wide and pushed the coat hangers aside with a clatter.

There it was, his old uniform. He wondered why he’d kept it all this time.

Carefully he extracted it from the wire hanger and started to dress. It still fit and Martin felt a surge of excitement thrumming through him. He went on tiptoe and fumbled for his old captain’s hat he knew was stowed somewhere in the back. Once Douglas had taped a lemon to it. For some reason, the humiliating memory made Martin want to giggle like a schoolgirl. He might have not seen it at the time, but it hadn’t been all bad at MJN.

He took a taxi to the airport.

 

* * *

 

Outside, the city was shrouded in cold fog, a depressing blanket that made everything appear dim and dark, although it was only afternoon. Martin wiped the steamed-up window of the taxi with the back of his hand and watched the buildings flashing by. When he’d moved to Zurich two years ago, he’d been looking forward to beautiful snowy winters, among other things. But soon he realised that most of the time the weather wasn’t much different from Fitton at all.

Sometimes he wondered how on earth he’d ended up here. The bustling activity of the city, its sheer wealth, the bloody Alps — all of this was strange to him. But as he told Douglas once, if someone let him fly airliners, he would live anywhere they wanted him to. And then of course there was Theresa.

Martin checked his watch. 16:00h. He clenched his jaw as he remembered that he was supposed to be on his way to Vaduz right now. To celebrate Christmas with Theresa and her family . . . the royal family. Angrily he turned his head. That was over.

At the airport he paid the taxi driver and walked straight to the VIP area, specially built for rich business men travelling by private jets. Tinned Christmas carols played from the loudspeakers as he weaved his way through the holiday crowd, mainly families with trolley bags. At the sight of all the happy faces, children clutching stuffed animals in their hands, Martin felt an unexpected gush of anticipation.

“Hi, Skip!” Arthur bounced towards him in an weird excited gallop as he entered the business lounge, and Martin found himself enveloped in a bumbling hug.

“Hello, Arthur,” he choked, a bit overwhelmed but happy. Suddenly he wished he’d brought him something for Christmas. Like a Toblerone. But then he remembered that they were stranded in Switzerland and that Arthur had probably bought all the Toblerones he could afford.

“Thank God, Martin, you’re here.” Carolyn looked like she was actually glad to see him. “If Mr Alyakhin calls me _old babushka_ one more time, I swear I let him rot on this damn sofa, Christmas or not.” They both glanced at the small man in an expensive suit who pointed angrily at his watch. Next to him, Herc was sitting slumped on the sofa. He waved at Martin with a crooked little smile, which ended promptly in a sneeze and a coughing fit.

Martin nodded to him and waved back, though his gaze was already drifting away. Douglas had kept himself in the background, sitting slightly apart from the boisterous OJS family and their client, apparently immersed in a book. Now he took off his reading glasses and got up. Martin’s stomach flipped oddly.

Douglas hadn’t changed . . . at least not much. Well, his hair had slightly more grey in it than two years ago and he seemed to have got it cut recently. It suited him well, Martin thought. Furtively he stole a glance at Douglas’ ring finger, check if he was married again. But no. On the other hand, one didn’t need to be married to have someone.

Martin swallowed hard. The thing was, he hadn’t heard from Douglas in a while. It were always Carolyn or Arthur who called, once even Herc. As if he’d ceased to exist for Douglas, ever since he’d started his new job and moved to Zurich. For a while, he’d assumed that he might be jealous of his good fortune. But after the break-up . . . Douglas had to know that it wasn’t all roses for him. Sometimes he doubted that they’d ever been friends at all.

Suddenly Martin felt like someone was looking at him. His head snapped up and his eyes found Douglas’ across the room. He smiled. It was a warm smile that made the laughter lines around his dark eyes crinkle. A real smile. Martin’s heart did a funny lurch.

It was good to see them all.

 

* * *

 

They walked to the tarmac together — Carolyn, Douglas, Arthur and him, just like old times. G-ERTI looked so achingly familiar that it took Martin’s breath away and he needed a few seconds to compose himself. But then, she seemed so small. This, more than anything else, made him realise how much had changed. How he had changed. He’d got used to flying 737s by now. For a bizarre moment, he felt almost sorry for Douglas, who was stuck in this tiny business and would likely remain there forever.

Martin settled into the first officer’s chair without a fuss. Carolyn had told him that Douglas was going to operate, but that was fine, really. Martin was simply glad to be back in the flight-deck again, even if his function was purely ornamental. He couldn’t help but keep glancing at Douglas, who looked splendid in his captain’s uniform. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside . . . in a way that all those highly professional captains at Swiss Air didn’t.

G-ERTI was just breaking through the clouds, heading into a cool winter sunset, when Douglas turned in his seat. “Martin, how are you doing? Everything all right with you and Theresa? Or did I miss out on a royal wedding?” he added in a light teasing tone.

Martin set up straight, heart beating fast. So Douglas _knew_ about it. He could feel his hands starting to sweat. “It didn’t work out,” he said in a choked voice. And why did it still hurt so much to admit just that?

“What happened?” Douglas looked at him quizzically, despite having to fly a plane. “You two were engaged, weren’t you?”

Martin closed his eyes and took a deep, deep breath. No one ever had asked him that. His Swiss colleagues didn’t know, and for the rest — they seemed to think it was best to leave him alone. It wasn’t often that you had to cancel a royal wedding. Naturally Douglas wouldn’t show such restraint. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he gulped. Furtively he rubbed his palms over his legs.

“Ah,” Douglas replied softly as if this explained it all.

Martin’s head spun around, and he willed himself to keep still. Douglas was far to perceptive. In a way, he’d missed that. At least one didn’t have to pretend with him, Douglas saw right through him anyway. “I don’t know,” Martin admitted tensely. “I mean . . . I don’t know what happened. One day we were happy, the next she told me–”

“Martin, you were engaged to get married and you tell me _you don’t know_?” Douglas sounded like he couldn’t believe it, and Martin didn’t blame him. He couldn’t believe it himself at times.

One particular image had burned itself into his mind. It was moving day, and Theresa was lingering in the doorway of their Zurich flat waiting for her taxi to arrive, looking pale and stressed out. Her boxes had already been packed up in the van and they’d hugged goodbye. Martin kept asking her ’why’ for what felt like the hundredth time. But she only said, ’If you really don’t know, I cannot help you’. Just that. She didn’t say ’it’s me not you’ or any such nonsense. So it had to be him, Martin reasoned. Something was wrong with him.

“But it was she who ended it, I gather?” Douglas insisted.

“Yes, yes she ended it.” Martin stared angrily out of the window, into the pink-coloured clouds as if they had all the answers. “Like all my girlfriends before. Because apparently Martin Crieff is so very dull.” He huffed. “Even when I have money for the first time in my life, and decent job. Not to mention a shared interest in flying. But apparently that’s not good enough. Because I’m such a bore.” He turned his head and brushed the angry tears away.

“Golly.” Douglas let out a shuddering breath.

Silence stretched between them, as they both listened to the soothing drone of the engines. When Douglas spoke, he sounded like nothing had happened at all. “Well, boring is not what comes to my mind, no.” He paused deep in thought, his head tipped back. “Maybe stubborn, obnoxious, annoying, insufferable . . . overconfident and insecure . . . all of that, yes. But boring, no.”

Martin stared at him, mouth agape. Suddenly he felt a strong urge to smile. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m an insufferable, incompetent fool,” he retorted, laughter bubbling up. “You can be a bit unprofessional too,” he added for good measure, feeling a lot better.

Quietly, he wondered how easily they’d slipped into their old pattern. Douglas and him hadn’t talked in a year.

 

* * *

 

Once Mr Alyakhin had been driven off in a massive limousine, they decided to meet at Carolyn’s house for a bit of pre-Christmassy celebration. Per unspoken agreement Martin rode in Douglas’ car, the same old Lexus he’d owned two years ago. Martin had never had much opportunity to drive in it, but as he sank into the luxury seats next to Douglas, breathing in the familiar smell of worn-out leather, it felt like he’d travelled back in time.

So many extraordinary things had happened. Martin had seen his fair share of Vaduz Castle and the idyll of Liechtenstein. He’d moved in with Theresa, into a spacious flat in Zurich overlooking the lake. Then he’d moved back to a small attic room, because Zurich was expensive and Martin wasn’t rich. And now again — Fitton. Douglas’ car. He sighed.

The Knapp-Shappey-Shipwright home was visible from afar, illuminated by countless fairy lights, slung around each tree and framing every window. It looked warm and lived-in. His own flat with Theresa had been like that, Martin thought with an odd surge of longing, but then again, not so much. Apparently something had missed.

Surprised and slightly awed, Martin watched Carolyn bustling Herc up the stairs. He’d never seen her so caring. Arthur played host and led the way to the lounge, brimming with excitement. He lit the huge Christmas tree, and Martin could see the whole room was festively decorated, with garlands, candles and holly everywhere.

“Okay chaps, who would like some eggnog? Or mulled wine . . . teas and coffees?” Arthur bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t you get us a bit of everything?” Douglas suggested. “I believe Martin here could do with a little snack.” He smiled broadly as he settled into the most comfortable looking armchair.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Martin gave him a grateful look and sat down, perched on the edge of the sofa. “This time, he has outdone himself, hasn’t he?” he murmured under his breath, cautiously observing the glittering splendour all around.

“That’s nothing. You haven’t seen the portakabin,” Douglas grinned.

Martin nodded and smiled, feeling inexplicably nervous. It suddenly didn’t seem right to sit here, making polite conversation. It was what he had done with Theresa.

“Right, Theresa,” Douglas said gravely.

Martin’s head snapped up. Could Douglas actually read his mind?

“You have no clue why she’d left you?” Douglas leaned forward to the coffee table and took a Christmas biscuit from a plate. He regarded it pensively.

“Clue? What do you mean?” Martin spluttered. “I’ve told you I have no idea. It was amicable. She . . . she just didn’t want me anymore,” he finished lamely. And then he remembered, cold twisting in his guts. ’It’s not me you want’, she’d said to him. But that didn’t make any sense. There was no one.

“Hmm, delightful.” Douglas helped himself to another biscuit. “I’ve made them especially for Arthur, you know?”

“Oh, really?” Martin saw that only one was left on the plate, a cut-out heart with a dab of jam in the middle. He reached out to get it, but Douglas beat him to it and brushed his hand away.

“Look, Martin.“ Victoriously he held up the little heart-shaped cookie, and Martin watched his face getting a dreamy expression that suddenly turned smug. ”I bet you this biscuit that I _do_ know the reason why Theresa has left you,” Douglas said with a sly smile.

“Douglas. Please let it go.” Martin’s heart was hammering in his chest. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut earlier? “I’m over it. The others can come in any minute.” He didn’t want to go there again. He’d felt so miserable when she’d left, such a failure.

But Douglas didn’t seem to listen. “I bet you this delicious biscuit . . .“

“No, Douglas, please, please don’t.”

“ . . . that she left you, because you are a terrible kisser.”

“What?” Martin froze on the sofa. He could feel a hot wave of shame rolling through him, flooding his insides. No, no. He’d always got it up — and kissing, he liked kissing. “No, I’m good. I . . . I am a great kisser.”

“Martin, I don’t believe you.” Douglas said, his eyes glittering. “I bet you are atrocious. And do you know why? Because there is no manual for kissing.”

“Douglas.” Martin leaned in and stared Douglas right into his dark eyes. His soft and friendly eyes.“ I might not be outstanding,” he panted. “I might not be a smarmy sky god, but I am not atrocious.” He realised he wasn’t angry exactly. No . . . he thought giddily, he felt alive like hadn’t since his days with MJN.

Douglas settled back in his chair, with the most obnoxious of grins. “You say so, Martin. But can you prove it? Can you prove to me that in fact you aren’t the most pathetic kisser in the world?” He parted his lips slightly, his tongue darting out to lick away an invisible crumb.

“Prove it to you?” Martin felt his cheeks heat. His heart was in a flurry and his head spinning. Show him, but how?

“See,” Douglas smirked, looking entirely too smug. ”Martin Crieff . . . the worst kisser in the world.”

Martin jumped up. And Douglas . . . Douglas had gone very quiet and was staring at him. His expressive eyes, which had been full of mischief and laughter one second ago, were glossing over. This was serious.

Martin felt his knees going weak and before he would lose his nerve, he staggered forward, around the coffee table and grabbed Douglas’ head between his hands.

He leant in and kissed him.

Douglas’ lips were soft. They slid smoothly against Martin’s and when they opened up for him, he could feel Douglas’ tongue brushing his, a tiny touch that went straight to the groin. Martin whimpered and Douglas pulled him closer, until they bumped together in an awkward hug. It wasn’t enough. Without thinking, Martin stumbled on and collapsed onto Douglas’ lap.

Suddenly he heard a noise. Somebody was moving behind them.

Feeling slightly bedazzled, Martin sluggishly turned his head and saw Arthur standing in the doorway. He was carrying a tray full of steaming mugs and grinned from ear to ear. “Look, Mum, Douglas and Martin are kissing,” he shouted happily.

“Well, about time.” Carolyn was showing up behind him, smiling in a frighteningly maternal fashion. “Douglas was getting lonely here.”

Martin blushed deeply and his ears went red, in exact the same way he knew Theresa had found so very endearing. However, he had only eyes for Douglas, who smiled at him with an expression Martin had never seen before.

“Come here, Martin,” Douglas whispered in a voice so soft that only he could hear him. He opened his arms wide and wrapped Martin in a close hug. “I believe you’ve won yourself a biscuit.”

 

The End


End file.
